The Unexpected Son

by Shobhan Bantwal

  There were none of the fireworks or heightened excitement that Som had ignited in her with a mere brush of fingers, but there was a quiet strength in Girish Patil she had sensed from the very beginning. He was the kind of man a woman could probably lean on and close her eyes for a long while. And when she opened them, he’d likely still be there, still holding her hand.

  Every night, after Girish dropped her home, Vishal asked her if she’d managed to keep her mouth shut. When she answered yes, he’d said, “Good. Keep it that way. This is your one chance for a future.”

  Her mother, of course, nodded in mute agreement. In fact, Mummy was beginning to smile a lot and was even encouraging Vinita to go out with Girish. She was probably having visions of getting Vinita married quickly and packing her off to a distant foreign country, so their secret could finally be buried. Her mother could concentrate on finding Vishal the perfect wife—a delicious prospect in her maternal eyes.

  However, after spending four evenings with Girish, Vinita still hadn’t summoned the courage to tell him her secret. Each day, she’d promised herself she’d confess the next day. And she didn’t. Was it because she had slowly begun to view America as a place to escape from her past, a place where women enjoyed much more freedom, a place where she could truly begin afresh? Or was it because she saw Girish as a really promising suitor, unlike the others?

  Was she losing her courage in the presence of this honest man? He deserved just as much honesty from her, didn’t he?

  And yet, his forthrightness could be a clever façade. She had just met him. She had heard some grim stories about naïve young women marrying men living in a foreign country because from afar it seemed like an exciting life, only to discover their husbands were lechers, or abusive, or alcoholics. Girish could be any of those things. She couldn’t let herself be taken in by his seemingly candid personality. She couldn’t let herself become a victim for the second time.

  Despite the doubts, she liked him, genuinely appreciated his company. The slow fire he lit in her veins when he looked at her a certain way, or teased, or said something humorous, wasn’t her imagination. There was no denying a real spark existed between them.

  At the moment, with his proposal hanging in the air, she looked out on the ocean for a long time. What was she to do?

  He sat beside her in complete silence and let her have the time to think.

  “What about Nadine?” she asked him finally, looking for signs of hidden emotion in his eyes—anything that would indicate his true nature.

  “I haven’t thought about Nadine in a very long time. We lost touch after the divorce.” Seeing the dubious look on her face, he shook his head. “Nadine will never come into my life again. She was the one who wanted out of our marriage more than I.”

  “But then, I need to…” How in heaven’s name was she going to introduce the truth to him?

  “You’re free to pursue a career in America. And your dancing, too,” he added, misinterpreting her reasons for faltering. “There are some Indian classical dance schools in New Jersey, by the way.”

  When she remained silent, he let go of her hand. There was such disappointment in his expression that it squeezed her heart. “I’ll understand if you decline, of course,” he murmured. “You could find a much more eligible man than me. There are so many—”

  “Please, Girish,” she interrupted, touching his arm. “Give me one more day.”

  Part 2

  Chapter 15

  Palgaum, India—2007

  Vishal Shelke swiped his face with a handkerchief. Sitting at the desk of his home office, he could feel the heat coming at him in waves from the nearby window—the humidity typical of late April in Palgaum.

  He could also smell the storm brewing. The rumblings of approaching thunder were audible in the distance. That, too, was typical of the town’s weather. The heat could only be dispelled by a fierce, cleansing rainstorm.

  He rose to his feet and started to pace the length of the long room, wishing he could do something about the storm raging in his mind, in his life. He could smell this one churning, too. It was going to be just as violent and disturbing as the one developing in the sky. He’d tried to work on his computer, but his restless thoughts about his sister had driven him to his feet once again.

  Vinita’s phone call from New Jersey the other evening was most upsetting. It had been one of the hardest things he’d had to do in all his life—confess that he’d been lying to her for thirty years, lying about the fact that her son was alive. Even worse was giving her the rest of the news. That portion was downright distressing.

  Wincing inwardly at the thought of his sister learning the shocking truth about her son in such a crude manner, he stopped pacing and sat in his chair once again. The crickets and mosquitoes were already setting up a racket of chirp and whine since it was turning dark outside.

  Other familiar sounds drifted up from the rooms downstairs. At the moment, it was those sounds that kept his mind on an even keel. There was something therapeutic about the humdrum nature of routine.

  In the kitchen, his wife Sayee was likely putting the finishing touches to their dinner. Although Anu, the maid, served their meals, Sayee preferred to cook them herself. She didn’t trust anyone in that particular area of housekeeping. He could smell the mustard seeds and curry leaves being tempered in oil for the dal—the soupy split pea dish served over rice.

  His mother was in the dév-ghar—the altar room—saying her evening prayers before dinner. He breathed in the scent of her agarbattis, the long, thin incense sticks she burned during her pooja. Ritualistic worship.

  Ah yes, the daily sounds and smells that made up his world. And his family. What would he do without them? The house seemed a bit empty at the moment, though. He missed his twin sons, twenty-one-year-old Aneesh and Anmol. After graduating from college, they were both in Bangalore, taking a one-year certification course in some type of new software.

  Neither one of his sons was likely to join his accounting business. That was disappointing. But Sayee had convinced Vishal that it was best to let the boys follow their instincts. Young men and women these days were attracted to the high-tech industry with its promise of lucrative jobs.

  At least the boys were together. They were identical, always inseparable—twins in the real sense of the word. They often reminded him of what his sister had lost years ago, when she’d believed her baby boy had been born dead. She was heartbroken. Of that he was sure, although she’d put on a brave front and gone back to college.

  But thank goodness Girish Patil had come along at the right time. He had proved to be a decent chap when Vinita needed a man like that in her life to make her forget Kori. Getting his sister married to Girish and sending her off to the States had brought incredible relief to Vishal and his parents. The best part was that she seemed happy in her marriage, her career, and her home.

  But now some anonymous letter had brought back that old nightmare for her and the rest of the family. Who could have written it?

  He heard someone come up the stairs and stop by his office door. He didn’t have to look up to see who it was. He knew those footsteps well. His wife.

  “Are you still worrying over the phone call?” she asked him, her round face ripe with concern.

  “She’s going to hate me,” he said, meeting Sayee’s questioning gaze. “She’ll never forgive me for this.”

  “She’s your sister. She’ll get over it.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “You don’t know Vini. She can be very intolerant at times.”

  “But surely she’ll understand something of this nature?”

  “Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head. His sister was a woman of contradictions—exceptionally bright but naïve in many ways, stubborn at times but compliant at others, caring and loyal but not always forgiving. He loved her, but he’d never understood her. She had secrets that she had never shared with him. Her affair with Kori and the pregnancy were examples of how close-mouthed she co
uld be. She would always remain a puzzle.

  But then, he had kept some secrets from her, hadn’t he? And now they were coming back to taunt him, dark and ugly.

  “Do you think I should phone her?” he said to Sayee.

  Dressed in a green sari scattered with white dots, Sayee had her thick, long hair braided and pinned up into a bun. She was a plump woman, never having lost the weight after she’d given birth to the twins over two decades ago. She had a sweet, youthful face, and her eyes twinkled when she smiled. Although she was only four years younger than he, people thought the difference in their ages was greater.

  She stepped forward and laid a hand on his. “Why don’t you give her another day or two to calm down? Besides, it’s Sunday. She’ll be busy.”

  He nodded. Sayee and he had visited Vinita and Girish a few years back and they had observed what active lives Vinita and her family lived. “Their weekends seem to be busier than their weekdays.”

  “I don’t know how Vinita and Girish manage to get any rest or relaxation with so much housework, and full-time jobs.”

  “But they seem to like the American lifestyle.”

  “Thank God we have servants here,” Sayee murmured. She threw Vishal an encouraging glance. “Come on, let’s go downstairs and watch some TV before supper.”

  Vishal scrubbed his face with his hands. “I have some work to do before I eat.”

  “I know it’s not work that has you worried,” she said, reading his mind. “It’s Vinita. Don’t make yourself sick over it. You did what you had to do.”

  “But I hurt her. I’ve lied to her for so many years.”

  “You were only trying to protect her.”

  He took the hand his wife offered him. “She won’t see it that way. Should Papa and Mummy and I have told her the truth?”

  She appeared to turn it over in her mind. “All of you were trying to make sure she had a chance for a future.” She pressed his hand. “Besides, you were so young yourself. You were hardly qualified to think like a wise old man.”

  “But my parents were older, and they thought the same way I did.”

  “There you go. Even they thought it best to let her think the baby was…stillborn.”

  He could see it bothered his wife to use the word stillborn—just like it bothered him. Was his wife right? If he had to do it all over again, would he keep the truth from his sister? “But the problem is back, thirty years later,” he said. “And it’s bad. The boy is apparently dying of cancer.”

  He dropped Sayee’s hand and tented his fingers. What exactly was Vinita going to do, now that she knew the truth? One thing he knew for sure: she was livid. She had every right to be. She had called him a liar—which he was. There was no defense for what he’d done to her.

  Maybe she’d never want to speak to him again.

  Just then the phone rang, startling him. He picked it up at once, instinct telling him it was Vinita. And it was.

  “Vishal, I’ve been thinking about this,” she said, getting straight to the point. “I’ve decided what to do.”

  “Is that right?” He had an idea what it might be. And his stomach plunged.

  “I’m going to fly down to Palgaum as soon as I can. I want to see my son.”

  His guess was right. She was being her impulsive and stubborn self, as usual. “What’s the point, Vini? The boy doesn’t know about your existence. You’ll only upset him unnecessarily.”

  “For heaven’s sake, I’m not just coming to meet him,” she retorted. “I want to see if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  Vishal’s grip on the phone tightened. But he chose to remain silent as his sister spoke a while longer. He gave a slow, tired sigh when he finally hung up and looked at Sayee. “She’s coming to Palgaum…asking for trouble. Again.”

  Chapter 16

  It was an overcast morning. The promise of a soft, soaking spring rain hung like an invisible blanket over the neighborhood. The birds were more subdued in their chirping. Even the tenacious Doris wasn’t to be seen in her yard. The only things that looked delighted at the prospect of rain were Doris’s newly planted seedlings. They seemed to turn their faces to the sky in anticipation.

  Girish stared at Vinita across the round, glass-top breakfast table. “So you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth?” Although it sounded like a question, it was more of an accusation. Behind the thick glasses there was bleak disappointment in his eyes. He had that wounded look one rarely saw in a man’s face. His slice of toast remained untouched on his plate.

  Vinita clasped her hands together in her lap and glanced away. It wasn’t easy to face him when he looked like his world was crumbling around him. “I’m sorry.”

  He had returned from his business trip the previous evening: Friday. She’d welcomed him home, fed him a good dinner, and let him have a night’s rest before spilling the truth this morning. She’d lain awake all night, debating if she should tell him at all—or if she did, how much of it she should admit.

  In the end she’d decided to tell all. There was no way to confess piecemeal to something as corrosive as this. It had to be all or nothing. And it was the hardest thing she’d done in all their years together.

  And now she had broken his heart—the stout, candid heart he’d offered her that day on Chowpatty Beach.

  “Sorry because you hid the truth, or because it has surfaced after thirty years?” he asked. Bitterness was so uncharacteristic of him. Could one little episode from the past change a man’s personality to this extent? This quickly?

  She turned his question over in her mind. “Both,” she admitted. “But mostly because I’m causing you so much distress.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this when we first met?” He raked his left hand through the limited hair left on his head. The receding hairline had crept farther back over the years. It made him look older than his age. Arya often teased him about his looks—a cross between Woody Allen and Ben Franklin, albeit a brown-skinned one.

  “I wanted to. I truly did,” she assured him. “But Vishal and Mummy convinced me that it was best that I didn’t.”

  “Why?”

  She switched her gaze to the scene outside the window, watching the clouds thicken as she gathered her thoughts. Once again she opted to tell the whole truth. But putting it in words was the tougher part. “I had already been rejected by three men because I’d told them the truth,” she said, swallowing to moisten her throat. “On the other hand, you seemed like a promising match and…they didn’t want me to blow my chances.”

  “So I was the perfect imperfect man because of my divorced status and my ugly hand with its missing fingers.”

  He was being deliberately cruel in his remarks, but she suppressed the need to strike back. He was justified in his cynicism. “Besides, I didn’t really know you then,” she said instead in her own defense.

  Despite having gone out together four times, theirs was still an arranged marriage. In these types of relationships, one didn’t get to know the spouse intimately for a long time. And by then it was too late to disclose closely guarded secrets, too late to betray the level of trust earned over a span of so many years, too late to break apart the bond so carefully crafted and nurtured.

  Five or ten years after they’d been married, how could she have suddenly blurted out the truth? Honey, I have a dirty secret to tell you. He’d already been hurt by one woman before. She didn’t want that to happen to him a second time. It was a matter of protecting both him and herself from pain when she’d kept the truth buried.

  But now she was hurting him worse than Nadine ever had. Nadine had never lied to him as far as Vinita knew.

  He got to his feet and dumped the uneaten toast into the trash can. Then he picked up his empty teacup and plate and placed them in the sink. “But I told you everything about myself. Wasn’t it fair that you did the same?”

  “I should have. I realize that now, but each time we met, I didn’t know how to bring up the subject. Y
ou thought I was a decent girl. You’d have lost respect for me if I had told you about my past. I thought Vishal and my mother’s advice made sense.” She bit her lip to stop it from quivering. “I felt guilty about it. I still do. It hasn’t been easy.”

  “I bet,” he retorted.

  “Don’t you think I’ve tortured myself all these years over the secret I’ve kept from you…and Arya?”

  “And the scar on your abdomen?”

  “That’s…”

  “Is that really from the cancer surgery?”

  “I had to have a caesarean because of…complications.”

  His expression changed. “The cancer? Is that a lie, too?”

  She met his dismayed gaze, but couldn’t hold it for more than an instant.

  “So it was.” He peeled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, looking worn-out despite a long, restful night. “When I worried that your cancer might come back some day and you might become seriously ill again, you never even had it.” He paused, as if searching for a logical explanation. “I even prayed for your health. I didn’t want to lose you to cancer.”

  “Really?” He’d never told her that.

  “Every evening, when I said my prayers.” He expelled a hollow breath. “You didn’t even have the disease.”

  No, she never had it. And he’d worried over her, prayed for her well-being. How ironic.

  He shook his head at her, like he still couldn’t accept it. “Did your obstetrician know this when you were expecting Arya?”

  “I told him.”

  “But not me.”

  “He would have known after my first examination anyway.” Seeing his expression, she added, “I made him promise he wouldn’t tell you.”

  “Ah, a coconspirator,” Girish said in a mocking whisper.

  She winced. Sarcasm was not something she’d ever observed in him. “Girish, please. How many times do I have to apologize for having had an affair when I was a hopelessly naïve teenager? I’m sorry. It was a huge mistake, the worst I’ve ever made. I’m sorry, okay? I’m so damn sorry!”